Dreams
by Tara Majiere
Summary: Hawke has been made Tranquil and is a shadow of her former self. Fenris lives each day surrounded by memories, while hoping for one last miracle.
1. Chapter 1

He moved within her, gently, slowly. Her body was familiar and precious to him, and he cherished each moment of this ritual of remembrance. His hands caressed her skin, his mouth tasted it. The tang of her on his tongue made his breath hitch in desire and pain. His eyes screwed shut and he pressed his face further into her hair.

The dreams last night had been good. He dreamed of her every night, of course, but last night's had seemed as real as if it were happening all over again. He had awoken in a camp on the Wounded Coast to see her standing over him, cheeks flushed red with fury. A campfire blazed at his back, uncomfortably hot. All around him, the bodies of blood mages lay sprawled and smoking, charred black with the power of the lightning that had coursed through them. If he couldn't see her rage just from looking at her, these remains, twisted beyond recognition from an assault that was more than sufficient to kill them several times over, were a grand testament to it.

_She drops to her knees beside him, grasping his head in her hands rather roughly. Her eyes search his, tears of frustration and hate brimming inside them. He can also see relief there, as she realizes that he is alive._

_"Fenris, are you all right?" she asks. The quaver in her voice is heard by him alone. Her companions stand back far enough not to hear. He spares no glance for them. He looks into her eyes, relishing the emotion he can see there. Concern, relief, love - all for him. He never thought to be worthy of such._

_"I am unhurt," he assures her. His hands grasp her shoulders gently, his eyes scan her quickly for injuries as they did after every fight, never mind that he hadn't been a part of this one. "Are you?"_

_She ignores this question. "I am so sorry, they did this because of me. They are all dead, I killed them all. No one will ever dare take you again-"_

_She kisses him then, her beautiful soft lips suddenly hard on his, all the passion in her soul pouring into him through the taste of her on his tongue. Her hands, buried in his hair now, pull handfuls of it heedlessly. He relishes the pain of it. He returns her kiss ardently, and the burnt smell of the blackened bodies around them merges with the scent of her hair to envelop him in a glorious cloud of love and hate. _

The scent of her hair was the same. He inhaled deeply of it, and caressed the softness as he had always loved to do. He pressed his lips to hers, delved his tongue into her mouth. He gave a soft groan as his gentle thrusts inside her quickened. Her mouth acquiesced to his attentions, and he paused, waiting hopefully for a response, yearning to feel those lips caress his, for her tongue to tease him in the manner that had never failed to drive him wild.

They didn't. He murmured, "Put your hands in my hair, please, love." She obeyed; her arms raised from her sides and her hands landed lightly on his head. There was no delving of her fingers through his thick locks, no grasping and pulling in passion. He didn't expect it anymore.

His hands skated down her body to grasp her hips, to press himself ever deeper inside her. Her thighs were parted obligingly, and he imagined that they were wrapped around his hips, squeezing him hard as she writhed and moaned against him. Oh, Maker, the noises she would make, they alone were enough to drive him over the edge sometimes. He would thrust into her again and again, while she twisted and panted and pulled his hair, and those breathy moans and gasps she gave would escalate into shrieks and screams, each one echoing into the very core of his lust, driving him faster and harder into her, and just when he thought he would go insane with it, she would stiffen and contract around him, _squeezing _him so tightly, and then he would scream right along with her.

His muscles went rigid as he came, still holding her hips, his face pressed into her hair. He gasped as his body spasmed again and again, but there were no screams. He held her tightly, as tightly as he held his memories, and slowly his breathing calmed.

_Her lips, red and sweet, as flushed as her face, brush light kisses over his cheeks and neck. She is still breathing hard, as is he, and their bodies, still joined, are covered with a light sheen of sweat. "Fenris," she whispers into his ear. "I love you so much..."_

He steeled himself for the next moment, or tried to, as he raised his head and looked into her face. He knew he should expect nothing, but something inside him would not let him give up a tiny shred of hope. She lay placidly, expressionless, seemingly studying the ceiling as she patiently waited for him to release her. The brand on her forehead shone, red as blood, in the bright morning light.

Hot tears spilled from his eyes as he pulled her back into his arms. The tears shamed him, but he was powerless to stop them. "Hawke," he managed through the lump in his throat. "I miss you so much..." The placid, accepting expression on her face, along with the blankness of her eyes, broke his heart yet again.

* * *

><p>Hawke rose from the bed when Fenris finally released her from his grasp. Thirteen minutes behind schedule. Not so far behind, she thought. Some days he kept her an hour or more, talking of long ago times, trying to remind her of things she could barely remember. He glanced at her hopefully, expectantly, while he talked, but she did not know what answers would please him, so she usually said nothing. The past did not interest her.<p>

Today was the day she scrubbed the floor. There were seven hundred seventy eight tiles in the estate's foyer and entranceway. Scrubbing each tile for twenty seconds meant she would finish the floor in four hours and twenty minutes. Since she would be starting thirteen minutes late, it would leave her only seventeen minutes to prepare her shopping list before Isabela arrived to take her to the market. It was doable.

Hawke began her morning ritual. A visit to the privy, then to the washstand to bathe her face and hands. Fifty strokes with the hairbrush, then her deft fingers twisted her locks into a bun, every hair in place. If any strands escaped, she would have to start over, but none did.

Then she dressed. As she removed her nightdress, she inspected it carefully for rips, as Fenris was often careless of her clothes when he used her body. To avoid loose and missing buttons, she had begun unbuttoning her shift herself when he turned to her in bed. Once Fenris had told her that her custom had been to sleep with no clothes on at all. Before. She had quietly dismissed that notion. Nightclothes were for wearing at night, why else would they exist?

After dressing, she turned to make the bed. Sometimes Fenris lay abed far longer than was sensible, but today he had gone while she was busy. She was satisfied at this, as it meant that she would not have to wait for him and delay her schedule further, as she never left her room in the morning with her bed unmade. Once she had stood for forty two minutes while Fenris dozed, her mind counting off the seconds and repeatedly re-arranging the rest of the day in her mind as each minute crawled by.

Her next stop, as always, was the kitchen, where her first task was to rekindle the fire for the day. She could dimly remember when other people did this instead of her. The dwarf, Bodahn, and later the elf girl, Orana. Now she was the only one left, except Fenris, and she would never expect him to remember all the things that needed doing every day. He was too preoccupied with the past and his memories, it seemed to Hawke. He had forgotten how to live in the present.

She cooked breakfast for two, although Fenris had not made an appearance in the kitchen. He had no schedule. He might be in the library reading, or in the study writing letters again, or out in the courtyard practicing with his sword. The only thing she felt sure of was that he had not left the estate. He was careful to always tell her where he was going and when he would be back.

After eating, she washed her dishes carefully and put them away, leaving Fenris' breakfast neatly plated on the table, a napkin folded crisply beside it.


	2. Chapter 2

When Isabela arrived for Hawke, they were waiting for her in the library. Hawke sat quietly in a chair with her cloak on and her market basket at her feet, staring serenely into the fireplace. Fenris fidgeted, paced, picked things up and put them down again. Hawke would later retrace his steps and restore everything to its proper place, he knew.

He was nervous, as he was every week when Hawke left the estate to do her shopping. He didn't like to be separated from her. It was how the templars had managed to take her. He had been absent from her side that day, and had cursed himself for it every day since.

It was impossible for him to escort her to the market himself anymore. Although the city had mostly recovered from the horrible events of two years ago, people still remembered her, what she was, who her friends were. After the templars had branded her, she became somewhat of a joke to the citizens of Kirkwall. The first time he had taken Hawke out into the city, jagged twin wounds of grief and guilt still raw on his soul, he had heard a jeering insult hurled at Hawke from a hard-eyed man in a butcher's apron in the market square. Hawke had walked calmly on as though she didn't hear, but Fenris had lost control. The man had ended up on the ground at his feet, his apron sporting more of his own blood than that of the animals he butchered. Only the guards' intervention had saved the man's life.

Isabela took over the duty from him, else he end up imprisoned for murder and Hawke turned over to the custody of the templars. Isabela could out-insult the vilest lowlife in Kirkwall, and Fenris knew she could also defend Hawke from harm if someone ever took it into his head to lay hands on her, but still he worried. He suggested having things delivered, but Hawke preferred to do the shopping herself so that everything was purchased according to her own specifications. Fenris would not deny her anything she wished, in spite of his own worries for her. So, Isabela it was.

She walked into the library now, her dagger hilts glinting as brightly as her jewelry. Smiling, she embraced Hawke heartily as she rose from her chair. "Hello, sweetheart. Ready to go?"

"Good day, Isabela," Hawke answered, permitting the hug but not returning it. "I am ready to go." She picked up her basket and straightened her cloak.

Isabela turned to Fenris, her smile turning sympathetic. "Don't worry yourself," she murmured, as she gathered him close in a comforting hug. "I will guard her with my life."

Isabela had turned out to be a very good friend, Fenris mused as he lifted a hand in farewell to the two women as they left. Although captain of her own ship, she had remained close to Kirkwall since the branding, and Fenris knew her choice had more to do with him and Hawke than her fondness for the city, as she proclaimed. She had offered her body to him once, and when he had declined, had offered him her shoulder instead. This he had accepted, and allowed her to hold him as they shed tears together for the loss of what Hawke had been.

Since then, she had been the closest friend they had left in Kirkwall. Aveline and Donnic had come to say goodbye before leaving for Val Royeaux, and when she looked at Hawke the guilt in her eyes threatened to spill forth in a flood of helpless tears. Fenris didn't blame them for leaving, and remained grateful to Aveline for her help in negotiating the arrangement that had allowed Hawke to stay in her own estate rather than be hauled off to live in the Gallows with the other Tranquil. Varric and Merrill were still in the city, living their own lives and only visiting rarely. Fenris knew that they had been Hawke's friends, not his, and now that Hawke was essentially gone, they saw little reason to pursue relations. And, of course, no one had seen Anders since the day the Chantry exploded.

Fenris resigned himself to the long wait until their return, his nerves jittering. Hawke's safety was not the only reason that he was so on edge. He had begun to allow himself to believe that there might be a letter for him today. All his hoping over the past two years had so far not produced the particular letter he yearned for, but each time Hawke left for the market, knowing she would check the post for correspondence, he couldn't help the anticipation he felt. It was, after all, the only thing he had left to hope for.

* * *

><p>Fenris paced in front of the fireplace, trying to contain his impatience. There probably wasn't a letter, he told himself. Why would there be a letter today after all this time? The disappointment would be worse the more he expected it. He tried to calm down.<p>

His gaze locked itself on the empty doorway, willing Hawke to hurry up and make her appearance. It did no good for him to hover over her as she put away her purchases, straightened things, organized other things, and put everything to rights. The slow, deliberate way she moved made him crazy, but nothing he said could alter her routine or distract her from it. He found it best for his sanity to remain in the library.

_She bursts through the doorway in a flurry of noise, staff clattering to the floor as she tosses it in the general direction of the wall. Her cloak slumps to the floor as well, missing, by several feet, the chair it was aimed at. "Fenris!" she cries delightedly. "I've been looking for you! I have a surprise..."_

_His eyes drink her in as she lightly crosses the room toward him. Her disheveled hair tickles his face as she leans in for a kiss. As their lips touch, he embraces her tightly, to keep her there, to feel more of her warmth and life. She, however, breaks off the kiss, her eyes glinting with mischief and promise. His palm cups her cheek, and his callused thumb slides across the smooth skin of her face. She smiles at him, and at the sight of it Fenris can feel his heart clench._

_"Look," she instructs him excitedly, as she unwraps a bundle she has been cradling in her arms. She reveals a book, old and worn, the leather cover riddled with cracks, but as soft as her skin with age. "It's the fourth volume of Genitivi's Ferelden history. I can't believe I found this! It was a piece of luck, I tell you-"_

With a start, Fenris realized that the doorway was no longer empty. Hawke stood there serenely, awaiting his acknowledgement. Her dress and shoes appeared as clean as when she put them on this morning, although he knew how dusty and dirty the streets were, particularly the marketplace itself. Her hair looked as though it had never felt a breeze.

"Come in, darling," he invited. "Did you find everything you wanted at the market today?" It felt like a script, but he recited it dutifully because she expected him to.

"Yes, I did, thank you," she answered as she placed herself into an armchair. She did not slump, she did not use the armrests, and she most certainly did not fling both of her legs over one arm and _lounge_. She continued, "I was only able to buy thirteen pounds of flour instead of fifteen. The merchant's shipment did not arrive. I bought two extra bags of rice instead. I will adjust our menu accordingly."

"Wonderful." He smiled at her. "And did you stop by the post?"

"Yes, I did," she responded, and, incredibly, reached inside her cloak and brought forth a small, stained envelope. "There was a letter for you." She held it out to him.

He took it from her slowly, as though expecting it to disappear. It was dirty, fingerprinted, somewhat crumpled. It had come a long way. Fighting to control his voice, he asked, "And who is it from?"

"I do not know," she replied tonelessly. "It was not addressed to me, so I did not open it."

Fenris remembered a time when such a small thing as a name written on an envelope would never have stopped Hawke and her curiosity. With trembling fingers, he opened it and pulled out the single sheet of parchment within.

_I am in Ferelden. Ask her where, she will know. Bring her with you._

It was unsigned. Fenris tried to keep his excitement under control as his heart pounded wildly within his chest. This was it, the letter he had been so long hoping and praying for. Only one thing remained to be confirmed: the author's identity.

He turned the parchment toward Hawke so she could see the words. He asked carefully, "Darling, do you know who wrote this?"

After a glance at it, she replied, "Yes. This was written by Anders."

Anders. _Anders_. Finally. Fenris felt his knees shake. Two long years he had been searching for that accursed mage. He had disappeared from Kirkwall as though he had never existed, and none of Fenris' discreet inquiries had revealed anything at all. He had questioned Hawke repeatedly, asking for the names of other mages, former patients, Fereldan Grey Wardens, anyone who might have kept in contact with Anders. Hawke had given him all the names she knew, and he had written letters upon letters asking for any information at all. Although most of those he asked were sympathetic to Hawke's plight, they simply had no knowledge of Anders. A small few, however, had provided other names. He diligently wrote more letters, following up on every lead. And now, somehow, after all this time, word had reached Anders that Fenris was seeking him.

"Are you sure Anders wrote it?" he questioned her.

"Yes. I can prove it if you wish."

"Please do."

Hawke rose from the chair and walked to one of the bookcases. From one of the books, she pulled several loose sheets of parchment that had been placed between the book's pages and showed them to Fenris. They were covered with a scrawling script which exactly matched that of the letter. "These are pages of Anders' manifesto. I saved them a long time ago. Would you like to keep them?"

He politely declined. Hawke slid the pages into the book again and placed it back on the shelf, its spine lined up perfectly with the books beside it.

"And what of his location? Do you know where he is?" Fenris asked gently.

"He is in Lothering," Hawke answered promptly.

"How can you be sure? Lothering doesn't exist anymore..."

"That is exactly why he is hiding there. Lothering was destroyed and no one is left to discover him, including the templars. In this letter, Anders refers to a conversation he and I had a long time ago, wherein we discussed where we would go if we were to flee Kirkwall and return to Ferelden. We discussed Lothering at some length."

Lothering. So be it. Fenris gently cupped her face between his palms and whispered, "You and I are going to Lothering, love."

"I will pack provisions for the trip," she responded blandly. No questions about why, no protests at leaving her estate. She was as docile as a walking doll.

"You do that." He placed a gentle kiss on her unresponsive lips.


	3. Chapter 3

Fenris paused at the edge of what had been a bustling town, once. Hawke stood beside him, her face as blank as ever, showing no reaction to seeing her old home again. She had brought them here to Lothering unerringly, over all the miles through deep forest and winding countryside lanes, from Gwaren, where Isabela had set them ashore, with the same non-expression on her face.

"Two weeks," Isabela had agreed firmly, but Fenris remembered the bleakness in her eyes as she spoke these parting words at the docks. She clearly understood that they might be saying farewell forever. If Fenris and Hawke had not returned in two weeks' time, then they had no plans to do so, ever. Isabela was to return to Kirkwall without them, where she would discover that she was the new owner of the Amell estate and all its material wealth. Fenris had not been idle during his last days in Kirkwall.

Fenris approached the ruined town cautiously, keeping Hawke behind him with her hood raised to conceal her face. The desolation from the Blight still lay all around them. No vegetation grew from the blackened ground, and only the twisted remants of trees gave evidence that a forest had once surrounded the town. Fenris spotted some timbers thrusting up from the ground and assumed he was looking at what had been the Chantry. The bridge crossing the stream that wound through the town was gone, but the stream had dried up and they stepped across effortlessly.

The shack they were approaching was the only structure standing in Lothering, and it was obvious to Fenris that it had been constructed after the Blight. Anders had apparently scoured the ruins for bits and pieces of board still large enough to nail together. The whole thing looked flimsy enough to break apart and blow away in the first stiff breeze. Instead of a door, the skin of some animal concealed a hole in the wall of the shack, and after only a moment's hesitation, Fenris lifted it and entered.

Startled, a man straightened from the corner where he had been squatting, petting a ragged looking tabby cat. The man was bald, with a thick dark brown beard. He wore dirt-crusted breeches and a stained tunic, and leaned upon a twisted walking stick. The cat, alarmed at the intrusion, disappeared between two loose boards in the wall. The man stared at Fenris silently.

Disappointment flooded through him. The letter had either been a fake, or Anders had changed his mind about meeting them and fled. He opened his mouth to offer some excuse to the stranger he had intruded upon, but before he could speak, Hawke stepped out from behind him and lowered her hood.

The man's eyes locked onto the brand on Hawke's forehead. His face crumpled. "Oh, Maker," he moaned. "It's true...I had heard rumors, of course...but I hoped..." Dropping the walking stick, the man stumbled forward and threw his arms around Hawke.

"Good day, Anders," Hawke intoned in reply. "It has been a long time."

_Anders? _Shocked, Fenris studied the man now sobbing into Hawke's shoulder. He was the same height and build as Anders had been, albeit a bit thinner now. The eyes were the same golden brown, but more wrinkles had appeared around them. Fenris then spotted a hole in the man's earlobe, where Anders had once worn a gold hoop earring, back when he was still with the Wardens.

Hawke stood calmly, allowing Anders' embrace but making no move to return it. Anders released her after a few moments, wiping tears from his eyes. "I never thought they would do this to you. I thought that the Champion was safe from them, especially after Meredith's own templars sided with you against her. I thought you were _safe_..."

Anders whirled on Fenris then, accusation in his eyes. "And where were you while this was happening? Why didn't you protect her? Don't you know that being Tranquil is worse than death?"

There was a time in his life, Fenris thought, when Anders speaking to him this way would possibly have ended in violence, but now, all he felt was tired. Anders could accuse him of nothing that he had not already blamed himself for thousands of times. "I did not come all this way to fight with you, mage. I came to seek your help."

Clearly, Anders had not expected that. "My help with what?" he asked suspiciously.

"I want you to bring her back to me," he answered shortly.

A short laugh with no humor in it burst from Anders. "Fenris, Tranquility is permanent. There is nothing there to heal, nothing I can do. Why you would even think that I could-"

"I do not mean healing," Fenris interrupted. "I want you to bring her back to me like you did with your friend Karl."

"My friend-" Stricken, Anders slumped against the wall of the shack, which creaked alarmingly under his weight. "My friend Karl. I killed him...I was too late to save..." Sudden understanding dawned in Anders' face as he looked back at Fenris. "You mean, when he came back momentarily because of Justice?"

"That is exactly what I mean. Bring forth your spirit, and wake her up."

Anders shook his head disbelievingly. "I don't think you understand. It's not that simple. This is not a solution, Fenris. You came all this way for nothing. Karl was lucid for only moments before-"

"I don't care!" Fenris snarled. "I know it won't be permanent. I just-"

His voice broke. _I just want to see _her _in those eyes again, one last time. I need to tell her that I'm sorry I couldn't save her. I want to hold her and feel her holding me back. I want to tell her I love her. I need a chance to say goodbye..._

His gaze had drifted back to Hawke. Anders glanced at her too, then said softly, "When Karl was back with us, he asked me to kill him. What will you do if she asks the same?"

Fenris didn't answer. He tried to imagine himself plunging a dagger into her heart. His mind rebelled at the image. She was too precious, and he had spent far too long protecting her to contemplate doing her harm, even if she asked it.

Instead he growled, "Are you going to help me?"

Anders sighed. "I can promise nothing," he said. "But, Maker help me, I will try."

Fenris shut his eyes in relief. "I...thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. Justice could end up killing the both of you, although that is very unlikely. I have mastered more control over him than I had when last you saw me."

"What does that mean?"

"When Justice manifests, I will need to battle with him for control of our body. I will try to hold out as long as I can, but ultimately I will need to suppress him to keep him from harming or killing you both." He paused. "I will give you as long as I possibly can, Fenris."

"I...appreciate your efforts."

Anders hesitated a moment, then asked, "Will you tell her...tell her...I am sorry? For everything?"

"I will."

Anders nodded. "Then let us begin." He backed away as far as the tiny room would allow. Then he turned toward Hawke, standing placidly in front of the shack's makeshift door.

"Hawke," he said softly. "Tell me about the day the templars took you."


	4. Chapter 4

**Please take note that this chapter contains graphic violence against a woman.**

Fenris felt a thrill of fear and dread shoot through him. His hands closed into fists involuntarily and he shot a dark look at Anders. Never once, since it had happened, had Fenris ever asked Hawke to tell the story of that day. He did not want to know the details, and still didn't. He opened his mouth to object-

-and shut it again. It was for Justice that Anders was asking, he realized, not from some kind of morbid curiosity. Justice was surely to be stirred into action at hearing of this, and was this not why he had searched for years and then traveled all this way? Fenris remained quiet, but his fists still clenched themselves tight.

Hawke had begun speaking immediately, as if the story of the day her life was ruined was nothing more disturbing than recounting her last shopping trip.

"Two months had passed since the fight against Meredith. No one had seen or heard from you since that day, Anders, and some thought you must be dead. Your body was not found, however, and it would have been widely known if your death could be confirmed. Your name is cursed in Kirkwall to this day, but much more so during the early days after the explosion, when smoke was still drifting up from the ashes of the Chantry.

"I had been warned against showing my face in the city, and especially against going anywhere alone. Aveline warned me, and Fenris. Varric. Everyone. The entire city knew that you and I were friends, Anders, and rumors started that I was hiding you from justice."

A small noise came from Anders at that. _Hiding him from Justice, indeed, _thought Fenris.

Hawke continued, "On this particular day, I was alone in the estate. Fenris had been urging me for weeks to allow him to take me out of the city, to somewhere safer, but I always refused. I was too stubborn to leave my home, but I had finally decided he was right. I realized that I could make a home anywhere, as long as Fenris was with me. I decided that we would leave Kirkwall the following day."

Fenris' heart twisted inside him. _We were going to leave, _he thought, shocked. _I never knew. One more day and she would have been safe! We would have been _together!

He was dimly aware of Anders studying him pityingly, but he didn't look back at the mage. He felt as though he might scream with rage. _Is there no end? _he thought, desperately. _No end to this pain?_

Hawke continued, "I wanted to say my goodbyes to Varric, at least, even if I could see no one else before we left. I no longer remember where Fenris was that day, and I knew he would be angry with me for leaving the estate without him, but I thought he would forgive me when I told him we could leave the city. I headed to the Hanged Man by myself."

Fenris remembered with perfect clarity that he had been at the barracks that day, attempting to convince Aveline to post guards at Hawke's estate. Aveline insisted it wasn't necessary, despite the angry rumors and dark rumblings about murdering mages that could be heard in nearly every corner of Kirkwall. Every day, his fear for Hawke had grown, until his confidence in his own ability to protect her had dwindled enough to send him to Aveline begging for help, and in so doing, had left her alone.

"The templars must have been watching the estate," Hawke was saying now. "They might have been watching for weeks, waiting for their chance to catch me alone. I had just entered Lowtown when suddenly there was a templar on either side of me, like they were my escorts through the market. When I tried to stop, I felt a blade against my back and a voice warned me to keep walking. The templar on my left took my staff from my hand, and the one on my right took my dagger from my belt.

"I then tried what any mage would. I tried magic. My intent was to use a force spell to push them away from me, and I thought I might have to resort to fire if they persisted. However, when I tried to summon the power for the spell, I found nothing. Not even the barest wisp of magical strength remained. They had already completely drained me.

"The next part of the story is graphic and may be disturbing. Shall I continue?"

Fenris saw Anders stir from his place against the wall. After a moment, he said, "Yes, please continue. I need to hear the whole thing."

Fenris realized that he was clutching his own arms tightly, but did not try to relax his grip. The worst part was coming, and he was going to need all the support he could get.

Hawke continued, her tone as bland as ever. "My escorts guided me into an alleyway, and from there into an empty building. It may have been an apartment at one time. The dust was thick and it was dim, but there was enough light coming in through the dirty window for me to see that there were more templars inside. There were a total of nine of them, including the three who had brought me there.

"One of the templars, the one who had been at my back with the blade, walked to the far end of the room and occupied himself with some objects that had been set on a table there. I could not see what they were. Then, the remaining eight templars began to beat me.

"They began with simply slapping my face, while calling me names such as 'murderer', 'betrayer of the Faith', 'maleficar'. They pushed me back and forth among them, smiling as though enjoying a game, until one of them grasped my robe and tore it from my shoulder. Until then, I thought that they only meant to frighten me. But then, they became savage.

"They began to pinch, and to bite. They bit my face, my arms, and my breasts. A couple of the bites drew blood. I began to plead with them not to hurt me more, and in response, they laughed and tore at the rest of my clothing. I attempted to hold on to the garments that remained, and, in an effort to defend myself, I punched one of them in the face and clawed at another's eyes with my fingernails.

"After that, they began to use their fists. One of them would grab a handful of my hair, to hold me in place, while another punched me. Some of them still wore gauntlets. The rest of my clothes were ripped from me, and I stood naked before them."

Fenris heard a small strangled sound escape his throat. The thought of anyone touching Hawke with anything less than reverence made fury burn through his veins. He'd had no idea that Hawke had endured such treatment. She had been healed by the time she was returned to him, after the branding. _Stay calm, _he told himself. _There is nothing you can do now. It is long over. _Glancing at Anders, he saw the dark expression on the mage's face that he knew must mirror his own.

"Suddenly, the ninth templar, the one who'd been at the table, turned and approached us. He carried in his hands an object that looked very much like a silver candlestick, except thicker in diameter. The room was dim, but a beam of light from the window struck the end of the implement as he walked, and I saw the disk at the end, shaped like a sun, and I knew then what they meant to do.

"I do not remember any coherent thought during the moments that followed. I attempted to reach the door, although I knew it was locked, while trying to dodge the templars' grabbing hands, but I was weak from pain and fear, and slower than usual. I would not have been able to escape in any case, but the alternative seemed inconceivable, and so I tried anyway.

"Several hands grabbed me and hauled me back to the center of the room. I was forced to my knees, held in place, and one of the templars grabbed fistfuls of my hair and tilted my head back so that I was looking up at the templar with the brand. I was saying something, pleading or begging for release perhaps, but I do not recall the words I used."

Fenris became aware that Anders was breathing a bit heavily, and tore his eyes from Hawke to glance at him. His eyes were narrowed, his face grim. _Hurry, mage. Bring out your spirit, summon him and put a stop to this horror._

Hawke continued her recitation. "I was bleeding at this point, mostly from my nose and lip where a gauntleted hand had struck me, but this did not seem to be sufficient for the purposes of the templar. He drew a small knife and cut me here-" Hawke indicated a spot on her chest just above her left breast "- and once the cut was bleeding freely, he smeared the end of the brand over the wound, so that my blood completely coated the sun-shape at the end of it. Then he began to chant.

"My arms were held out to either side, and I was held immobile by several pairs of hands. In fact, all eight remaining templars were helping to restrain me in some way, as though it was important to the ritual that they all be touching me. In any case, I could not move, no matter how much I struggled. As the lead templar continued to chant, tears began to fall, making my vision blurry. I was thinking of Fenris then, about how hard he had worked to keep me safe, and about how much he would be hurt by my allowing this to happen. I wished more than anything at that moment that I could tell him I was sorry."

Fresh grief welled up in Fenris' chest then, and it was difficult to draw a breath. He watched Hawke speaking, expressionlessly, standing here in the middle of a ruined town, but his mind's eye saw her as she must have been then, helpless and terrified, facing the end of everything she was. He longed to take her in his arms, grieve with her, offer her what comfort he could, but he realized that she did not need comforting anymore. It was he who needed it, and he would not find it in her now.

"The brand was changing color as the templar chanted," Hawke continued. "First a dull red, then orange, and then finally a brilliant white, like hot metal when it is forged. I smelled something burning, and realized that the blood on the end of the brand was sizzling. I wondered that it did not burn the templar's hands, but he showed no discomfort at all. And then he pressed the brand against my forehead.

"I felt it burn my skin, but the pain was as nothing at all compared to that which wracked my body. For each person in my life I cared for, I felt a snapping as though of bones breaking, and a sharp pain which took my breath away, and I realized that my emotional attachment to each one was being severed. Each dream that I had ever had still lived in my soul, and each one was ripped away from me, leaving a raw hole in its place. My magic was stripped from me, with an agony similar to my skin being peeled away. Vaguely I was aware that I was screaming.

"And after all this, I then felt-" here Hawke hesitated for the first time, as though unsure of what words to use, "-I felt _myself _being taken from me, my soul perhaps, or my life force. I fought to hold on to it, to follow it, even if it meant death. I knew only that it was an essential part of me, and that I could not exist without it. But the hands held me in place, and that part of me which was _me, _dwindled away to nothing, to a pinprick of light in the distance, and finally disappeared completely."

Tears were running down Anders' cheeks, Fenris saw, and he was trembling. "Oh, Hawke," he murmured miserably. Hawke stood calmly in her place next to the door, and waited politely to see if Anders was going to say anything else, a question perhaps. When he didn't, she continued.

"I awakened then on the floor of the room. The templars had let me go. I stood, and the lead templar handed me my torn robe. I put it on while he waited. And then he asked me about you, Anders."

"Me?" Anders croaked. "Why-what did he ask?"

"Where you had gone. How they could find you. How you detonated the Chantry. Who had helped you escape. I answered his questions, and he accepted my answers. He seemed disappointed that I did not know of your whereabouts, but he did not question me further."

"Because he knew that you could not lie to him," Anders moaned. "Oh Maker, it was all because of me, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Hawke confirmed calmly. "The templars watched my house, tracked my movements, captured me and performed the Rite of Tranquility solely to attempt to locate you, Anders."

Fenris slumped against the wall. O_f course it was because of him, _he thought dully. _Why else would they do it? Certainly not revenge for Meredith. Those very same templars had probably fought at our side against her in the Gallows that day. The loudmouthed abomination had announced what he had done at the Chantry even as it was happening. It's common knowledge that Hawke was the strongest link to Anders they had._

A sudden movement brought Fenris out of his thoughts. With a mixture of triumph and fear, he saw that Anders had changed. His face was hard, like a mask, and his eyes glowed an eerie blue that illuminated the entire inside of the shack. _Justice. _The spirit was present, and with him, that mysterious aura that made the skin tingle, and the Tranquil feel again.


	5. Chapter 5

Awareness slowly trickled into Hawke's face. The first sign of life appeared in her eyes, as she slowly glanced around the small shack, and her brow creased in confusion. She looked to Fenris exactly like a woman waking up in a strange place and trying to remember how she got there. She blinked when she saw Anders, glowing and still as a statue across the room, and recognition crossed her features. Then, as he watched breathlessly, her gaze shifted and her eyes met his.

"_Fenris!" _she cried, and launched herself into his waiting arms.

Fenris could hear his heart pounding in his ears. It was her, she was really here, her eyes had come to life again, her arms were squeezing him, her lips were kissing him. He could feel his body trembling as he held her, feel her heart beating as wildly as his.

"How long, Fenris?" she asked next, pulling back slightly to study his face. He could feel the tears spring to his eyes and he willed them not to fall. "How long have I been Tranquil?"

"T-Two years," he stammered, unable to look away from her face.

"Two years," she moaned. "And you stayed. You wouldn't let them take me to the Gallows. How can you stand it?"

His throat tightened. Here was his chance to say all the things he needed to say for all this time. Here she was, and they had only minutes, and he could barely force himself to speak. "I...I couldn't let them have you. After what they did. If I had only been there-"

"I won't hear you blame yourself. If I know you, you have spent the last two years doing that, haven't you?" Hawke's fingers slipped into his hair, and Fenris, savoring the sensation of it, let his eyes drift closed so she wouldn't see the truth of what she said in them. A moment later, her lips pressed against his, softly at first. Then, as though remembering what little time they had, her lips parted under his and her tongue delved into him, caressing his own with her moist heat.

Fenris moaned. It was like coming home after an unbearably long absence. His body remembered her, and responded joyfully to her touch. His heart, however, felt as though it were being shredded by tiny claws. He could almost feel the seconds rushing past.

She pulled back from him gently and murmured, "We have to make an end."

"No. Don't ask me to do that. I will stay with you...in the estate..."

"Fenris." Her tone was final. "No. There is no future with me."

"I love you," he countered. "I still have my dreams of what used to be…"

"But I don't," she interrupted softly, and he fell silent. "Can't you see? I don't wish to live in a world where I cannot love you, and I don't even have my dreams to remind me."

He could say nothing. She caressed his face gently, and then glanced at Anders. He stood still against the wall, grasping the walking stick with both hands, knuckles white. There was nothing in his manner by which to judge how much time remained to them.

Hawke's hand appeared between them, and Fenris glanced down at it and felt the breath leave his body as if from a blow to the stomach. Hawke held a small vial in her fingers, filled with a yellowish liquid. Stricken, his gaze returned to her face, and he saw determination there, along with sympathy…and love, so much love for him, shining forth from her eyes like the blue light of the Fade that now filled the room.

"Oh, Hawke," he nearly sobbed, brokenly. "No…"

Hawke rotated the vial, a small sad smile on her lips. "I don't remember my exact thoughts when I purchased this. Only that I knew it was necessary. And dear Bela…she pretended she didn't see what I was doing."

He attempted to pull her closer, to hide from his sight the vial in her hand, but she stood strong before him. "Soon I will be whole again. I will be with my family. I will wait for you there, Fenris, and until you join me, remember that I will be loving you with everything I am."

She pulled the lid from the vial and drank the contents before Fenris could make up his mind to stop her. He never could deny her anything she wished.

"No…" he moaned. _This is a dream. A nightmare. Soon I'll wake up with Hawke next to me and she'll start brushing her hair and I'll forget all about this…_

He felt Hawke's slim arms slip around him and he hugged her back, fiercely. The scent of her hair drifted up to him, bruising his torn heart with memories. He was barely aware of the small sound of the empty vial hitting the floor.

"Thank you," she murmured against his chest. "Thank you for doing this. For bringing me here." She looked up at him, smiling weakly. He felt her start to lean against him as the strength left her body.

"Don't! Don't leave me, Hawke…" he pleaded uselessly. She began to crumple, and he lowered her carefully to the floor and held her in his lap. Her face blurred as tears filled his eyes and he cursed them inwardly.

"Fenris…" she said softly. It was almost a whisper. "Tell Anders…to leave here. To get back into the fight he started. Help…the mages…"

He nodded wordlessly, helplessly, as her eyes became unfocused and gazed past him. Her lips curved into the tiniest of smiles. And then, as he held her, she left him.

* * *

><p>Sunset. The sky was laced with bands of red and orange and pink. Fenris raised his face to the sky and felt a slight breeze caress his cheek. If he stared only upward, keeping his eyes on the glorious colors and not on the devastated ground, he could almost believe he was in a different place entirely. Somewhere far away from the blackened dirt on which he knelt.<p>

He wished he knew where the Hawkes' home had once stood, when Lothering was a bustling town and there were no darkspawn and Hawke had been with her family. It would have been fitting to return the last of them to that place, where there had been joy and laughter and a home where they belonged.

He would never know, however, and so this spot would have to do. It wasn't far from Anders' shack, near what he thought used to be a stand of trees. He could imagine them there, as they might have been once, tall green sentinels waving gently in the breeze and keeping watch over her resting place.

For now, though, his greatsword, its blade thrust deeply into the earth, was the only sentinel standing guard. He no longer needed it, and he couldn't bear to mark her spot with some Blight-touched piece of rubble from this desolate ruin. He admired the sunset's colors as they reflected off the hilt, and remembered the many times this sword had saved her life. How many times she had saved his soul. And how, even in death, she had saved him once again.

It had fallen from her cloak as he had wrapped her gently in its folds, covering her face last, his tears still wet on her cheek. He held it now, her last gift to him, as he knelt on the packed earth that covered her. Rolled it reverently between his fingers. A second tiny vial, stopper intact, filled with peace.

He looked up at the heavens and smiled.

* * *

><p>The lone figure stands outside the shack, breathing deeply of the morning air. His beard is gone, and he rubs a palm over the unfamiliar smoothness of his face. His dingy clothes have been replaced with a dark coat and breeches, the feathers on the pauldrons matted and flat from storage. His hand curls possessively around the slender length of an intricate mage's staff. He gives it a little twirl and hefts its slight weight with satisfaction.<p>

To his left he can see the hilt of the shining greatsword, standing alone in the bleak waste. It watches over two now. As he gazes at it, his face softens with grief for just a moment before giving way to a steely determination, glinting fiercely from his golden brown eyes.

With resolute steps, he starts walking.


End file.
